


fearless and high-hearted

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: an age of men [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, F/M, Gen, Healing, Ithilien, Languages, Legends, Post-Canon, Rohan, Slice of Life, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 21:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19181434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: A king of the Riddermark visits a warrior princess of Gondor.Also, Éomer drops by with Éowyn's post.





	fearless and high-hearted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brynnmclean (ilfirin_estel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilfirin_estel/gifts).



> I know Éowyn is not technically a princess, but it sounds nice in the summary.
> 
> Written for brynnmclean, and I reproduce the notes I put on tumblr:
> 
> "I wanted to get a lot more into this about Éowyn’s involvement in the infirmary and work making medicines - I headcanon that Éowyn remained heavily involved in the defence of Ithilien as well as training as a healer after the ed of the war, and that there are a lot of medicinal plants etc regrowing in Ithilien after the end of the war that are dangerous for most people to get to - but it did not FIT. Still, I’m quite pleased with it, I hope you like it. :) "

_[Éowyn] is **fearless and high-hearted**. All love her. Let her be as a lord to the Eorlingas, while we are gone. – The Two Towers, J.R.R. Tolkien_

Ithilien had once been the garden of Gondor, and Éomer had heard tell that even beneath the Shadow some flickers of that loveliness shone through, hard to grasp but plain to see. Now, after the fall of Sauron, the forests and glades sang with life again, the White Lady of Rohan and the Steward of Gondor kindling those flickers into a steady flame. Éomer had heard three or four songs on the subject since crossing the Gondorian border, and suspected Lothíriel of plotting to translate yet others from Sindarin to Rohirric.

 

Most of them were heroic epics, with the occasional romantic ballad. Ithilien was very beautiful, but it wasn't yet very safe.

 

Éomer took his seat on a nondescript bench outside his sister's hall, and lit his pipe while he watched for her return. Faramir might be tied up in Minas Tirith - though the wagonload of practical supplies and saddlebag of personal gifts for Éowyn inflicted on Éomer suggested that neither Faramir's wife nor his home were far from his thoughts - but Ithilien feared nothing in Éowyn's presence. The castellan felt so safe that when he had met Éomer at the gates and regretfully announced that the Lady Éowyn was from home dealing with bandits, he’d declined Éomer's offer of military assistance in favour of suggesting that His Majesty might wish to refresh himself with a bath.

 

His Majesty had indicated that he would prefer to await the return of the Lady Éowyn and her men.

 

He blew a perfect smoke ring, made a note to tell Merry about it in his next letter, and watched the day-to-day bustle. It was a frontier hall, well-defended; the people were prosperous and unafraid, and everything looked in excellent repair. He could hear snatches of languages mixing - good, so Éowyn would not be obliged to speak Sindarin all her days - and conversations that seemed to bode well for the future here. Trade and harvest and the safety of the roads.

 

Also, he could smell dinner cooking, and it was making him hungry. Plainly Éowyn kept excellent cooks. She'd never been as natural a housekeeper as she was a leader, but after all, a hall was only a more complicated kind of éored, and a lordship a more complicated one still. It stood to reason that she would insist on doing all three at once.

 

A horncall was heard, and a cry went up; Éomer smiled and rose to his feet, and watched Éowyn ride through the gates, sweaty and victorious and slightly bloodied. She saw him and her face lit up, and Éomer felt his own face split in a matching grin as she slid from her horse, handed the reins to an ostler, and flung herself across the courtyard into his arms. He picked her up and spun her around, because she might be a great lady and a creature of story and song but she was still his little sister, and she laughed.

 

"How do you like my hall?" she challenged, once she’d got her feet back onto solid ground.

 

He smiled at her. "Very well. A good fight?"

 

"Hardly a fight at all, but there are still some I must see to the infirmary. Cornered rats bite hard." She seized his hand and towed him along with her. "Come - come and see how we do things here. Did you have a good journey? Any trouble?"

 

"None," Éomer said, and added slyly: "Everyone from here to Mundburg knows these roads are in the care of the White Lady. If we'd seen a Dwimmerlaik I would have known exactly who to call for."

 

Éowyn flushed and huffed at him exactly the way she always had. Éomer followed her through her hall, trailing her brisk steps, and kept to himself one bittersweet thought, one little reminder that they were no longer children getting under each other's feet in Edoras.

 

The word Éowyn had used for _hall_ could also be translated as _home_.

 


End file.
